A Lie Like No Other
by ThisIsTheGreatestUsername
Summary: [AU] One game. One scheme. One con. The dice of Bell Cranel had always fell favorably so far. One-Shot on what if Bell was a con artist.


**AN:** Hey guys, I'm a new writer to the Danmachi fandom. This fic here is a one-shot and is heavily **AU** ; it explores the what-if Bell and a few others were thieves living in a capitalistic world. Pretty much all the characters are different from their canon-self. The ages of most of the characters here are older, Bell and Syr are in their mid-twenties rather than being just 14 year olds. Also, I wasn't in the slightest lore-friendly in this fic, I pretty much did my own world-building here, whether that turns up good or bad, I'll leave it to you to decide. Well, I hope you enjoy this fic.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Danmachi, I just own a pillowcase which I got for Christmas.

* * *

The Hestia Familia Orphanage hadn't changed one bit since the last time Bell Cranel visited. Its low walls were still in need of a new paint job, while the front gates stood fairly straight considering its top hinges was rusted nearly to the point of breaking off. The one-story building itself was in a bad shape, with some of its windows cracked, roof tiles dangling by the edge, and leaked water seeping out from between the old bricks. A shabby place, all in all, a place Bell had once called 'home'.

He pushed past the creaking gates and headed for the front door, pausing briefly to check out the inner garden; heads of carrots stuck out in rows, looking quite dry against the warm afternoon sun. The sound of children echoed noisily from within the building.

When Bell Cranel had walked through the door and into the cramped hall, he was almost immediately swaddled to death by Hestia.

"Bell-san, you're back!" she cried.

"It's been a while, Kami-sama," he managed to reply when her grip finally loosened. The goddess herself had changed little as well; dark rims circled her eyes, strenuous wrinkles stretched across the linings of her forehead, but her smile was still every bit refreshing and comforting, a smile like none other.

She took a step back. "Two years! It's been two years! Where did you go?"

"Almost everywhere actually. I was across the continent here and there, spent a lot of time on the road with Syr and the others," he said.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, but I think we spent most of our time in Baniyan; we had, um, good work there. I'll spare you the geography of where it is."

"Best you do that. Orario is pretty much my world; outside of it, I don't think that I could even tell north from south," she said with an easy laugh.

"To be fair, I doubt Welf does either. I've brought you and the kids a present by the way." He produced a small box from the inside of his coat and handed it over to Hestia.

She flipped the tiny latch and open the cover. Within, a bright sphere beamed a brilliant light. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's a light globe; it's a relatively new invention. You can use it instead of candles. It doesn't cause any smell or soot, and it won't run out," Bell answered.

"That's amazing. I love it, the kids will too. Thank you, Bell-san."

"Anything for you, Kami-sama."

"You're too sweet." She pinched him in the cheek. "Sometimes, I wonder what ever happened to the little naughty boy who lived here many years ago."

"I guess he grew up," he said with a smirk, allowing her motherly touch to linger.

"I guess he did." Hestia nodded, begrudgingly letting go of his cheek. "I guess he did." There was a hint of something watery touching the edges of her eyes, but it soon vanished as she blinked. "Well, grown up or not, you still have to eat, Bell; you're still much too scrawny. I'll have to stuff you till you're fat. Come on now, lunch is about to be ready."

And with that, Hestia took off down the short hallway and turned left. Several moments later, a loud bell rang, signaling meal time. The noise of dozens of children rushing to the mess hall thundered through the old building.

"I reckon some things never change," said Bell, grinning as he took off his coat and hat to hang them by the coat-stand.

* * *

Lunch for the children was a simple bowl of rice, with scraps of meat and legumes, along with a small serving of cabbage soup. For Bell however, true to Hestia's words, was a stuffing of seemingly everything that was available in the kitchen at the time. Soy-sauced chicken, baked sausages, grilled fish, and a mountain of whatever hiding underneath. He doubted that there was even a spare inch of space on his plate.

And under Hestia's ever watching eyes, he slowly ate, praying for his stomach to still be intact rather than exploded to pieces when he heads back to his inn later.

"So, Bell-san, are you going to leave Orario soon again?" Hestia asked.

He swallowed the food in his mouth. "In time I will, perhaps several months from now, but currently I am staying put here. The others and I are taking a break from usual business," he said, leaning back against his chair.

They were seated next to each other on a long table-bench on the far end of the mess hall reserved for staff of the orphanage. Perpendicularly before them were rows of tables and chairs where almost a two hundred children sat eating and chattering.

"What is it that you and the others do again?" questioned Hestia.

"We're what you call freelancers," Bell lied effortlessly, "We have a large range of expertise, and we move around here and there, taking whatever job we can find."

"Is it a good life?"

"Fairly good. We have our ups and downs, especially when some jobs go wrong. But now we've decided that we've been away too long from home so we came back to Orario."

"No place like home, eh?" Hestia grinned.

He gulped down his wooden mug of water and exhaled. "None at all," he said. "So how's things here, Kami-sama?"

"Oh nothing much, just that all the kids you recognize are two years older than when you last saw them."

"No new kids?"

"Actually, just from last year we've got another two dozen new kids between the ages, six and thirteen. Most of them sit by the corner over there. See?"

"That's quite a lot," Bell mused.

Hestia sighed. "It is, but we're frankly running out of space to fit them all in. I need the funding to expand this old junk of a building."

"Really?" His eyebrows rose, interest pricked. "I quite imagine so."

"Yes, we need new dorm rooms, a new kitchen, a larger shower room, more storage space; a new everything in fact."

"Perhaps, I can help with that," Bell said, the mechanical rings already spinning in his brain. There was a certain look on his face, a look that spoke knowing exactly what needs to be done.

"What do you mean, Bell-san?"

"We're freelancers, remember? We can help you with the renovation and expansion. And for you, we'll work for free. Syr knows how much you mean to me, Kami-sama."

"Bell-san, I can't possibly ask you to. Plus, where are you going to get all the materials?"

"Materials? I don't think we're on the same page," he said, suddenly confused.

"Materials! You need building materials for you and your crew to do the renovations."

"Oh no, Kami-sama," said Bell, understanding the confusion. "I'm not suggesting we work on the renovation ourselves. I am suggesting that we will get the funding for you."

"What?"

"We will get the money for you, Kami-sama. You don't have to worry a thing."

"But how, Bell-san? The costs will be at least three hundred thousand Valis."

"Don't worry about it, Kami-sama. Don't worry, we got this. Just give us a few months' time."

Hestia shook her head. "It's fine, Bell, forget about it. It's my problem not yours."

"Your problems are mine as well, you know." He smiled.

A sigh escaped her throat, and she stayed silent for several moments, looking out at the children as they ate. "I can see that you're not going to give up," she said at last, "so you're welcome to try."

"You know me best."

"But don't do anything stupid! Remember that, Bell, I won't forgive you otherwise."

"Of course, anything for you, Kami-sama," said Bell.

Hestia nodded, filling both of their mugs with fresh water. Softly, she spoke, "I think I finally found the boy in you. You have that mischief face of yours on."

"Of course, I do, Kami-sama."

* * *

In a small dressing room, illuminated by a series of candles on stands, Bell Cranel stared at himself in the mirror. His dusted white hair was dyed with a slick black substance and his otherwise effeminate face added with a couple of charcoal lined wrinkles, making him look perhaps twenty years older than what he really was. His attire consisted of a white doublet, velvet breeches, and a tanned leather belt to which he fastened his pouches of silver coins to.

"How do I look?" he asked, turning to face his partner-in-crime.

"As good as a gentleman could be," Syr Flover replied, her grey hair also dyed to an auburn shade and her bodice stuffed with extra fillings for the appearance of a larger bosom. "The most dashing middle-aged looking man I have ever seen if I may so say."

"Liar."

"Well, good enough to swindle three hundred thousand Valis at least." Syr grinned, a cheeky half-smile that the devil himself wished he had.

Bell returned the grin. "I reckon you're right about that," he said.

"Of course. I'm always right," she said while pinning a silver rose to his left breast pocket. "Who else can claim that?"

"You just love getting ahead of yourself, don't you?" he smirked, though privately he knew that Syr was right more times than he wanted to admit. In fact, if she wasn't right for half the things, their heads would probably be hanging outside the Hall of Malefactions by now.

"It's healthy to brag, you know. Especially when you're as great as me."

"Yes, yes. We all recognize the brilliance of Syr Flover," drolled Bell, clutching the sides of her face affectionately. "Bless her soul! May she live a hundred Orarian years!"

"And we all recognize the great banter of Bell Cranel," Syr countered, flashing that half-smile again as she pried his soft hands off of her. "Good for sleep talk; bad for picking up girls and conversations in general."

"Lily likes my banter, you know."

"Lily's thirteen, she likes everything."

Bell laughed, then checked his pocket watch (which had once belonged to a rich merchant), the little hand close to striking midday. "I suppose we better get on the move then. Our guests should be nearly arriving soon."

"I guess we should," Syr said, proceeding to gather a small collection of parchments on top the dressing table. They were fake documents, credentials from the Ministry of Land and other official stationeries, forged by the meticulous hands of the forger Welf Crozzo, Bell and Syr's brother-in-crime. Syr bundled them under her arm, then picked a set of round spectacles to add to her outfit before heading for the door.

Bell followed her, pausing briefly at the coat stand to retrieve a brown fedora. He patted the hat onto his head, squeezing the dark hair to his scalp. His eyes closed as he took in a deep breath, catching the butterflies that always seemed to show up in his stomach at this time, and exhaling long and silently.

And, just like at the start of every game before, he felt a new confidence arise in him.

"Showtime, Kami-sama."

* * *

The Hall of the Uncommon stood north of Buckleworth Avenue, one of Orario's affluent precincts. Its twin towers etched high into the sky and its walls supported by flying buttresses. Inside, ribbed columns lined on both sides of the long hallway, chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, looming over the heads of the men and women below. Bell and Syr headed for one of the meeting rooms, where a lone guard stood outside the ornamental doors.

"Are they inside already?" Bell asked the guard, who wore a visored bascinet and a full-body steel harness.

"Yeah they are, Bell," Welf Crozzo replied.

"Shhhhhhh! Not my real name, you'll blow the game," Bell hissed.

"Oops, sorry!"

"It's fine, I don't think they can hear us from inside," he said. "You know what to do right?"

The guard nodded. While not exactly as skilled at impersonating as he is at counterfeiting, Welf's body size made him perfect to act as a tight-lipped warden to prevent any outsiders from eavesdropping on the ensuing meeting.

Bell patted him on the shoulder, then took a deep breath before entering through the door, Syr close behind him.

Six men, all dressed equally as elegant as Bell, sat waiting around a large, rectangle table, helping themselves to a bottle of aged Orarian port. Their eyes followed Bell as he moved to the front and centre of the room. He took the time to observe them coolly, taking note of their confident postures and relax mannerisms; truly, some of Orario's most self-reliant citizens were in this room. The question is, though, which of them will be the victim, Bell wondered.

His attention wandered briefly to the surrounding; a set of two lion statues stared at him from the back, velour curtains covered the expansive wall window, a portrait of Alderman Harman hanging on the left wall.

"Gentlemen," he began, his voice changed to a deeper tone with a heavier emphasis on articulation. "Thank you for coming today. I know you are all very busy men with your many ventures. But that is why you six have been chosen, for your keen and acute sense for business."

Several nods among the guests. Cedlack Eoryad, a member of the Merchant Union, sitting on the far left was smiling the brightest so Bell mentally labelled him as Potential Fall Guy #1.

He continued, "My name is Myron Toft, deputy-director of the Ministry of Land, and this is my secretary, Octavia Headley." Syr bowed slightly at the mention of her alias before producing the credentials for the guests' viewing. "Before we begin, I would like to say that the subject of this meeting is strictly confidential, and I trust that you all will remain silent of this matter to any others. Is that understood?"

They nodded almost instantly, and Bell knew he had made a strong opening. Weeks of planning and preparation would have meant nothing if he couldn't win the their trust with his first words.

"Very good, let us begin," he said. "I am sure all of you are already aware of what exactly we do at the Ministry of Land, but for the sake of formality, Ms. Headley will explain. Please, Ms. Headley."

Syr stepped forward as Bell took his seat, adjusting her spectacles on the bridge of her nose. "The Ministry of Land governs all proceedings regarding the management of state-owned land enterprises of the city of Orario," her accent was changed to match the eloquence of Bell's. "We handle revenue streams, expenses, collateral costs, assets, liabilities, etc. We also deal with the transfer of ownership should the Orarian Council vote to sell any of its state-owned lands for extra revenue."

"Which is the topic of today's meeting," Bell cut in. Several of the guests raised their eyebrows at that.

Syr continued, "Our senior management, which includes Mr. Toft here, responds only directly to the Alderman and the Council, thus, today's matter of discussion can be said to a direct representation of the Alderman and Council's will."

"And it is also within the Council's will to keep this quiet for the time being," Bell added. "I can't stress that enough."

"Are there any questions?"

None.

Bell furrowed his eyebrows, a signature curling of the brows which he had perfected for Myron Toft. "Gentlemen, it should be common knowledge by now that the city of Orario has come under some hard times. Ever since Alderman Harman succumbed to the Guild's pressure to forgive their outstanding debts, the city has been finding tough luck in other sources of finance to recover the losses. And with the upcoming Monsterphilia, the expenses will weigh on the city too heavily."

"Can't they cancel the Monsterphilia?" Gramnub Hosir, owner of several iron mines to the East of Orario, on the far right asked.

"No, the Monsterphilia has been a part of Orarian culture for centuries now. If the city cancels it, there will be uproar, and angry citizens is the last thing the Alderman would want." Gramnub's question had been expected, since he was not of Orarian native, and therefore did not understand folklore of the city as much as his contemporaries. Bell concluded that the mine owner was unlikely to be the victim.

"We do have one solution though."

"Here is the proposal," Syr said, handing out six copies of one document. All that Bell had said so far was true, the rest to follow was fabricated bullshit.

"The city plans on selling the Defaren Palace," explained Bell.

There were gasps, understandably. The ruins of the Palace was a symbol of the people's triumph over tyranny. A tyranny that had terrorized Orario back in the days when the city was once governed by the monarchy. The Defaren family had ruled with iron fists, burning and staking those opposing them; the people starved, many died, the city's wealth drained and sucked up by the leeching Defaren kings. Eventually the people revolted and stormed the city, upending the cruel structure and oppression. At the end of the period, all Defarens and those associated were erased from Orario—a republic installed in their place—leaving behind only the ruins of their palace.

Bell leaned back on his chair, waiting for the initial reactions of the guests to settle. The idea of selling the palace was not unthinkable; besides symbolism, it served no other purposes. The area of the palace was large, yet uncultivated, with wild weeds and plants left freely to grow on their own. The ruins itself was barely existent, its wood long rotten with age, and the stone pillars crumbled and fallen to the point that it did not resemble any structure of the sort. If anything, it was within prediction that the Council would have sooner or later decided a course of action for the land.

"It is within the Alderman's wisdom that the land, in which the Defaren Palace was built on, is a mass of spare capacity that could be better utilized in other ways," he explained. "Which is why they are deciding to privatize it."

"Why the absolute secrecy of this then? Surely, this is a matter that concerns all citizens of Orario?" Arvald Stuaro of Stuaro's Jewels broke in.

"An excellent question," Bell furrowed his brows again, "The Council does plan on announcing this decision. However, it is likely that the time will not be in the near future. You see, with rumours of the city's economy being in backwaters, the Council must be seen turning things around soon. If word of this plan goes out, it will definitely complicate the process, with sentimentalists and whatnots. Also, the Council will appear to be very desperate, so the Alderman deemed it more suitable to wait till the city is in a better situation before announcing the sale."

"I see."

"Any other questions?"

"What purposes are there for any of us to acquire this land?" Dremall Vaaltuc—his family owned some of Orario's finest vineyards—asked. "What profit is there to gain?"

Bell smiled; the winemaker had asked the question that he had been waiting for. "Another good question. As I said before, you all have a keen eye for business. If you refer to the document that was handed out to you earlier, you will find the exact dimensions and necessary information regarding the land. However, as for the profit, I would like to answer this question on site rather than here."

"On site?"

"Yes, if you all do not mind, I would like to take you all on a tour around the Palace. There's a double-compartment carriage outside large enough to fit all eight of us. I will explain further the details there.

"So shall we?"

* * *

To get to the Defaren Palace, which was open to the public, they had to cross north of the River Tumes which flowed through the centre of the city, then turn west into Bendsdirt Lane, exiting through the Western Gate before edging some miles north again to reach the base of the Crawling Hill. The hill was named as such because, as one might guess, its slopes was pitifully shallow that even a lame could crawl his way up to the crest with ease—well, as ease as one could be when crawling. Thus, the ride uphill was not in the slightest difficult, even despite the carriage carrying eight people, excluding the driver who happened to be Welf.

Bell and Syr had not been idle throughout the journey. They had further explained the details of the deal. The six businessmen were given one week to contemplate their decision; after that, the land rights would go to the highest bidder. Bell had wanted the wait time to be shorter, but Syr had cautioned that rushing things would elicit too much suspicion.

So for now, Bell resolved to be patient, and he continued to observe the guests for the potential victim. His earlier assessment of Potential Fall Man #1 had fallen apart, for he found the man too timid to amount to any daring action. He needed someone bold, willing to take risks, and yet, at the same time, insecure enough to be goaded easily. And thus far, only one man fitted the criteria perfectly.

Radley Aslin, Potential Fall Man #2. He was a merchant, just like his fellow guest, Cedlack, though not a member of the Merchant Union but of its rival, the Stock and Homes. He was a short man, younger and seemingly less experienced than the others; shown by his relative modest offer of opinion on the subject at hand, as if fearing that he would be rebuked for his naivety. An apple ripe for plucking, if Bell had anything to say in his experience.

It was near two chimes after midday when the carriage steered off the main road and treaded onto the Old Walk, an ancient gravel road that encircled and led to within the Defaren Palace. Syr drew back the carriage's curtains, allowing the yawning of sunlight to spill in. They could see the Palace grounds on their right and left, vines, shrubs, overgrown weed crawling throughout. The Old Gate had long fallen decades ago, most of its stones stolen by thieves to sell, and the carriage drove past a wooden signpost that marked its remains.

The ruins of the bathhouse came up to their left, a once glorious luxury that back then only the king could afford, though now it was merely a toad-infested swamp as the groundwater broke through the cracked flooring and flooded the surrounding area. Past this, was the servant quarters, which was surprisingly relatively intact, with only the roofs and doors missing, while the walls and overall shape of the small building was still standing.

Finally, came the Palace itself, and the carriage swooned to a stop, its occupants stepping out rather gratefully after the long journey. Bell adjusted the necklet of his doublet, letting some air within in order to accustomate with the hot sun.

"Gentlemen," he said, "the Defaren Palace," gesturing to a mess of rocks lying about in seemingly random order. There were some hints of sculpting, but they were mostly faded by many years of rain and wind. Syr walked up to a squared stump of rooted marble, presumably once the base of a statue. The others simply wandered around, going to as far as where the palace doors used to be. Bell paid particular attention to Radley. The merchant was gazing at the debris of the palace steps, waiting for Bell to continue.

Bell cleared his throat, drawing all their attention. "Mr. Vaaltuc, you asked me earlier what is the potential profit for acquiring this land. Well, I'm sure from what you have seen so far, you are not impressed."

Dremall Vaaltuc nonchalantly looked around him, saying nothing.

"Now allow me to convince you elsewise. For you see, the Defaren kings took the best for themselves, the best food, the best wine, the best women., etc. Legend has it that King Dursan's queen consort had a necklace with a gemstone the size of her child's head. Now, what does that say for the land in which they chose to build their palace on? It may not look like it now, but this palace was said to be one of the grandiose wonders of the world then.

"The fact is," Bell expounded, "that this land is actually one of the most fertile land in all of Orario. There's plenty of groundwater, ample of sunlight, and moreover, it has not been worked on for centuries now. The crop yield will be tremendous, not to mention if you have some alchemists to enchant the soil."

"If the land is this valuable, why would the Council vote to sell it?" Gramnub Hosir questioned.

"It's simple,"— _it's all bullshit_ —"the Council needs money urgently. It would take at least a year to get this place cleared and ready for works. Besides, even after the Palace is sold, the owner is still under the obligation of Orario's tax laws. The Council can live with that as a revenue."

They nodded at his reasoning.

"I've got a question," Radley suddenly said.

Bell smiled. "Go ahead."

"You said that it will take a year at least to clear this place and get it running."

"I did."

"So including the sowing and growing season, it will take around a year and a half before the person who bought this land can receive any income, correct? Certainly, that's quite a long period to wait for some returns on our initial investment."

Bell licked his lips. It was a good point, a point that nearly caught him off guard, and now he had to choose his response carefully or risk losing the interests of the others.

"Isn't that the thing with all agricultural businesses?" he said. "They take a while before any returns. Take Mr. Vaaltuc and his vineyards for example, wine brewing is a very length process. The grapes have to be grown, then harvested, pressed, fermented, and matured in cellars before they could be sold. Mr. Vaaltuc, what's your average working cycle?"

"Around seven to eight years for our regular brand. Ten to fifteen for our pristine batches," the winemaker said, pleased to be given the opportunity to advertise his trade.

"Fifteen years! Please do save me a bottle, my kind sir," Bell exclaimed. "Anyway, as you can see, agricultural ventures are rather time-dependent. However, in my professional opinion, I believe that it is a relatively safe venture. The people always have to eat, and any excess harvest can be exported to neighboring cities such as Prato. Moreover, the Ministry of Land does provide large amounts of subsidies to the farming industry. If anything, I would say that the city is almost encouraging everyone to be farmers."

"That is true," Radley agreed, satisfied. "You make a good point, Mr. Toft." There were eagerness in his tone now.

Cedlack Eoryad was starting to look sheepish. "But there are still risks, don't you say?" he said.

Bell furrowed his brows. "Mr. Eoryad, I'm no businessman, but I do believe that every business ventures contain some measure of risks. I'm not entirely suggesting that you use this land for agricultural, there are a multitude of uses for it in fact, and you are welcome to do as you wish."

"That is quite alright then."

"Quite so," Bell said, pulling out his pocket watch. "Well, gentlemen, I believe I have said enough. We will stay for another half-hour before returning so you may view the premises. If you wish to have a personal tour, Ms. Headley is more than welcome to provide so, she is rather the history enthusiast." He winked at Syr, who merely glared at him in response before correcting her spectacles and putting on her best fake smile again when two guests came up to her.

"Let us go this way, gentlemen. King Peris the Glutton's pavilion used to be behind these ruins. You can still see the traces of witchhare flowers there," she said, leading them down a small footpath. He knew she'll get back at him later.

While the others went off, Radley Aslin came up to Bell. His expression was one of anticipation and slight nervousness; Bell's years of experience had taught him how to read men's faces like a book. He allowed the merchant to begin the conversation, curious as to what the man wanted to say.

"Mr. Toft, about this bid…" said Radley, "…the lowest bid is at three million Valis, correct?"

"Correct."

Radley hesitated for a moment before speaking, "I was wondering...when the time comes that you could tell me the bids of the others so that I could match it. It will be a great favour to me, which I will definitely repay you."

"Oh." Bell's eyebrows rose. He hadn't expected that. Traditionally, Orarian auction bids were blind bids, meaning that, other than the auctioneers, no one knew the value of the other bids. Of course, this led many to secretly curry favours with auctioneers for the privilege of the information, mainly in the form of a bribe. Bell had intended to approach Radley at a later time with this offer, but it was a pure stroke of luck that the man had proposed it himself.

Bell favoured him with an appreciating beam, another tick of Mr. Toft that he had honed for weeks. "Mr. Aslin, how interested are you in this piece of land?" he asked.

"Very interested."

"Then I have guessed correctly, because from what I have observed today, I think that you are probably the most interested one out of the others."

"Is that so?"

"It is so," Bell said. "So I tell you what, I'll be more than happy to tell you the bids."

"T-That's great!" A flash of relief fell over the man's face. "How can I repay you?"

"Why don't I tell you more about myself first since we might as well be better acquainted with each other," Bell said. Radley nodded. "I'm not a young man anymore, most of my ambitions had dried up when I had turned fifty almost five years ago."

"You don't look fifty, more of a healthy forty," Radley said, attempting to be flattering.

"Believe me, I'm not that young. I'm past fifty." Though in reality, Bell Cranel was only in his mid-twenties. "Anyway, all I wish now is to live a comfortable life; I have a family and other priorities that comes up with age. But sadly, the Ministry of Land does not pay much. I'm sure you know this."

"I do, and I understand." Radley checked that no one was looking—it seemed everyone besides them two had followed Syr—before beginning to fish his belt. A moment later, he produced a leather pouch of considerable size, jangling with coins within. He pressed it into Bell's hands. "My sympathies. The Ministry of Land certainly does not appreciate hardworking men."

"My thanks," said Bell, making the pouch vanish within his doublet as smoothly as if it weren't there to begin with. "You're too kind."

"Think nothing of it, Mr. Toft."

"I'll have your bid in one week, Mr. Aslin. One week."

* * *

Radley Aslin had two goals in life: to fulfill his late mother's wish of him finding a wife, and to climb to the upper ranks of the Stocks and Homes. The latter of which, unsurprisingly, occupied most of his attention.

For you see, the Stock and Homes, and the Merchant Union, controlled most of the trade occurring in Orario, with their top hierarchy members holding considerable influence on the Council—second only to the Guild's. Thus, it was a position that anyone would wish to hold, for whoever controls trade, controls money, and whoever controls money, controls everything else—or at least as how the saying goes.

Though, as a relatively new member, Radley suspected that many of his colleagues slighted him at almost any opportunity they could happen upon, repeatedly boasting proudly of their latest investments which regularly overshadowed his. And while his personal fortune was not in the slightest meagre, he was often made felt like a mere dirt-swapper whenever in their presence. A bunch of assholes, he would call them—not to their faces, of course.

He needed to show them up. He needed the Defaren Palace.

It was a blessing from the gods. A blessing with a heavy price tag. Almost two weeks had past since the tour; Myron Toft had delivered on his side of the deal and the final bid Radley had place had won it, at the cost of a severe toll on his coffers. But nevertheless, Radley knew that his reputation immediately would soar when he acquires the land rights. He could imagine the conversation between Bradouin and him: "Hey Aslin, have you heard that the Council has sold the Defaren Palace?" Bradouin would say. And he would reply, producing the deed and everything, "Oh yeah, I bought it at a bargain price. A good deal, I must say. Do you want to come for a tour?"

Three sharp knocks on his office door broke Radley out of his ecstasy of seeing Bradouin's shocked face.

"Yes, come in," he called.

An old secretary opened the door ajar enough to stick her head in. "Sir, Ms. Octavia Headley is here for her appointment."

Radley immediately straightened up. "Yes, do please send her in."

"Yes, sir." The woman disappeared behind the door again.

He checked to see if his office was presentable. Files, stacks of them, piled neatly at one corner of his large pine desk. Two oak cabinets stood on each side of the door like bureaucratic bodyguards. A large expansive window with a thin brown curtain draped over one side was on the wall to his left. Two waiting chairs, simple in design but laden with soft comfortable cushions, sat before his desk.

Several seconds later, Octavia Headley walked in the room. She was dressed in an office attire; a black vest over white long-sleeved blouse, a dark long skirt, and small grey ribbon hanging by her neck. In her hands was a large envelop with the official seal of the Ministry of Land.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Aslin," she said.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Headley. Please do take a seat," Radley said, indicating to one of two chairs.

"Thank you." She let herself down to the right seat with as much flourish as a dealer.

"Anything to drink, Ms. Headley?" he offered slightly too hastily.

"No, thank you. I would like for us to get down to business. Mr. Toft wishes for this to be done as quickly as possible."

"Of course. Please do." He could hardly contain his anticipation.

Headley placed the large envelop on the desk and slid it over to him. "This is the contract for the transfer of ownership for the Defaren Palace. You will find that the terms are exactly as discussed before."

"Thank you." He took out a seal-breaker, a specially designed pocket knife, and pricked open the envelope's seal. He pulled out the seven-page document within and scanned quickly, the excitement in his stomach threatening to burst like the cork of a wine bottle.

He did his best to contain his grin as he read the line "This document confirms the transfer of the 52 acres landmark, "the Defaren Palace", to the ownership of Aslin Enterprise in accordance to the agreement of the terms listed previously".

"Everything seems to be in order," he said, withdrawing a quill from his drawer and dipping in the ink bottle on his desk. He signed his name at the end of the document before handing it back to Headley. Great joy and relief flooded him.

"Thank you, Mr. Aslin," she said, tucking the contract back into the envelope. "As of this moment you are under the obligation to pay the 12.6 million Valis price over the next ten years. After the initial payment of one million Valis, you can pay in whatever amount in the following installments every six months. Failure to do so will result in the confiscation of the land, plus any investment you already have on it."

"I understand." This meant he had to pay at least six hundred thousand Valis every half-year; a costly endeavor, but he was convinced that the revenue will pay off.

"So when do you wish to pay the initial payment, Mr. Aslin?" asked Headley.

Radley was keen to get this over quickly. "I'll do it now," he said, already producing a blank cheque note.

"Very good, Mr. Aslin."

He scribbled the amount down hastily, addressed to Myron Toft, before signing off at the bottom. Then, he dripped a few drops of wax from the desk candle onto the note and pressed on it with the signet of his ring. "Here you go, Ms. Headley." He handed the note to the secretary who took it with great care.

"Thank you. I will get this to Mr. Toft as soon as I can," she said, standing up from her seat.

Radley allowed himself to grin. "Send him my regards too. Tell him, it was good business."

"I will, Mr. Aslin." Headley walked herself to the door, but paused as she turned to face him again and grinned a cheeky half-smile, "It really is good business. Good day, Mr. Aslin, good day."

"Good day, Ms. Headley," he replied, and she was out the door.

Just like that the deal was done. The world had already began to seem like a much brighter place, pillars of cloud parting apart for the heavens to shine light down on him. Life was good, real good, and Radley took the time to briefly wonder on the meaning behind Headley's grin.

Though, it would be a few days before he found out, and he had paid a million Valis price for it.

* * *

"Bell-san! What is this?!" Hestia cried out, waving a piece of document in her hand frantically.

"Donations, Kami-sama," Bell Cranel said smoothly, taking off his coat and hat and placing them on the coat-stand.

"I know that they are donations. How did you get them?" Her voice echoed down the small cramped hallway.

"I pleaded to their good conscience."

"Good conscience, my ass. I have been running this orphanage for almost a hundred years and not once were the _good_ conscience of people this generous." She scanned the document again. "The total is almost one million Valis!"

"Is it?" Bell pretended to muse, even though he knew the exact amount by heart.

After receiving the one million Valis from Radley Aslin, Myron Toft and Octavia Headley had vanished off the face of the world, leaving no tracks behind. The money itself was carefully divided and split into various bogus bank accounts before being finally transferred to the Hestia Familia's account with the bankers paid extra for their silence, rendering the money virtually untraceable should Radley decide to report the matter to the authorities when he realized that he didn't really own the Defaren Palace. It was unlikely that he would though; Bell could only imagine the embarrassment the man would face if word got out that he had been swindled for such a large amount of money.

"Bell, don't take me for an idiot," said Hestia. "This is just not possible."

"It is, Kami-sama. Don't worry about it; the more important thing is now you have the money for the expansion. More than enough actually. I can find a contractor for you if you want?"

Hestia didn't seem to have heard his suggestion, or if she did she showed no signs of contemplating it; she stared at him straight in the eyes, and he felt naked. "Bell, what _exactly_ do you do for a living?"

Bell let out an uneasy chuckle. "Don't worry about that too, Kami-sama."

* * *

The Hostess of Fertility was a prominent tavern located along the Aderroad, a wide brick street which attracts much of Orario's traffic. From its large double front doors to its expansive and clean interior, the Hostess of Fertility was well regarded by many Orarian citizens and, thus, was a popular destination for visiting travelers and adventurers.

The owner, Mia Grand, was a giant of a lady and her reputation reached far and wide; a reputation best described by those who foolishly decided to cross her. She also happened to be a mother-figure to Syr. Thus, the dinner meal for Bell and his crew was on the house.

"A toast," Bell said, raising his cup, "a good three months of hard work."

"Cheers," they all said in unison as they clinked their cups before gulping down their contents.

They sat over in a circular table at one end of the room, far enough from any other tables that their conversation wasn't in risk of being overheard. The rowdy atmosphere of the tavern was somewhat relaxing, mild drunken glee from some customers erupting every now and then.

"I still can't believe you just gave all the money away," Lily Arde said, shaking her head.

"It's for a good cause, Lil," said Welf Crozzo, ruffling the little plume girl's hair. "Besides, it's not like you did anything this game."

Lily's face flared red. "You guys told me not to do anything!"

"Did we?" The forger looked questioningly at Bell and Syr, who both shrugged for show.

"Yes, you guys did!"

Welf chuckled. "Relax, Lil, I'm just messing with you."

"Maybe next time, Lily," Syr said. "We just wanted you to see how the adults work."

Lily was a recent addition to their crew and had yet to develop the keen sense of the confidence game that the other three had. But the little girl was coming along fine though, and Bell knew that it would be soon enough when she would be skilled enough to take to the field.

"Yeah, maybe next time, Lily," Bell agreed, then asked, "So what did you learn from our little performance?"

"I learnt how to give up one million Valis as easily as spare change."

Bell had to laughed at that. "There are things more important than money, you know. You'll see someday."

"Why do we steal then?"

Good question, _she's learning well_. He opened his mouth to answer, but Syr beat him to it. "Because it's a heck lot of fun," she said.

"So we're assholes?" said Lily.

"Exactly," Bell said. "Though, I wasn't going to say it that crude. We might want to get some soap for your mouth later."

"Oh please, you've said worse before your morning coffee."

"What do you think, Syr?" he asked, as if Lily hadn't spoken.

"A good tongue scrubbing is definitely in order, I think."

Bell and Syr exchanged looks, to which Lily began to shy away, knowing full well of the dangers when those two were on the same page. "Okay, I'm sorry. I won't swear again," she said, raising her palms out in surrender.

"Cut it out, guys. Look, she's scared shitless," Welf cut in, barely able to conceal his laughter. Relief flashed across Lily's face.

"Always spoiling the fun, eh Welf?" Syr said.

"Someone has to be the adult here."

"Well, the adult always pays the bills."

"I thought dinner was on the house?"

"It is, but this isn't…" Syr produced a golden wine bottle from behind her chair. Its label: Vaaltuc Winery.

Bell's eyes widened. "Is that the pristine bottle?"

"Yes it is. The very same Mr. Vaaltuc was bragging about that day. Well, Welf, this bottle cost seven hundred Valis, you gonna pay me?"

"Come on, Syr, you know I was joking…" the forger was attempting his best sympathetic look, and failing at that.

"Nope, pay up or you won't get a sip." She was already withdrawing the bottle to the back of her chair.

Bell decided to put an end to buffoonery; more so because he wanted to taste the wine than pity for Welf. "Let's just drink the damn thing and not play around," he said.

"You owe me, Welf." She grinned.

"Don't I always." Welf grinned back.

Syr handed the bottle over to Bell who uncorked it and poured its content, a rich dark blend, down the cups of his friends—small drops for Lily, of course.

Bell raised his cup; the others followed suit. He stared into the faces of all of them, the crookest, most dishonest, and devious set of persons he has ever lay his eyes upon. Persons who would rob you blind when you had thought better. Persons who could charm you to selling your soul to the devil. Persons who had nothing else better to do. He wouldn't have them any other way. Not even for all the money in the world.

He spoke, "To long life of peace and happiness—oh, who the fuck am I kidding? We're assholes and we know it. To being assholes!"

"Assholes!"

And they clinked and drank to celebrate the success of their most ambitious scheme. Yet.

* * *

 **AN:** Besides killing most of canon, I honestly had a ton of fun writing this. I realize it was pretty damn heavy with the technical business terms plus a lot of anachronism, hopefully it wasn't too overwhelming. This fic was quite different than how I usually write my fics. For one, it is extremely dialogue-intensive which I usually try to avoid. Second, it feels very stuffed like I was trying to squeeze in characterization, world-building, the scheme plot, technicalities, all into one one-shot.

The Defaren Palace scheme is heavily inspired by Victor Lustig's scheme of selling the Eiffel Tower. If you go check it out, you will see that this fic plays out almost exactly as Lustig's con. Another heavy inspiration for this fic is Scott Lynch's Gentlemen Bastards series, definitely go read them if you love damn good heist novels.

Even though this is a one-shot, I think I might write something like a sequel to this, but more expanded and in depth and multi-chapter. Like I said before, I had a ton of fun writing this, and I won't mind writing a full-blown fic. I'll perhaps make the Dungeon more central in the sequel and also bring in more characters. I already have a good idea of what I want Aiz Wallenstein to be (Awesome! More killing of canon!). But until I can think of a plot and other whatnots, things are not confirm; I've learnt my lesson of writing things blind. I am open to suggestions and ideas. Any help will be appreciated.

Finally, please do leave your thoughts in a review if you want. Tell me if this fic is good or utter shit, I don't mind either. Be blunt as possible, I find hard criticisms helps me improve the most.

Well, that's the end of this one-shot, be sure to favorite, review, or PM if you want. See ya and Happy New Year!


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